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You Stay On My Mind

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He had only just got off of his bike and Peter could already feel the burning sensation of the scorching hot boxes of pizza in his hands. He had to open with his right foot, on multiple unsuccessful tries, the door to the apartment building. It was a rather shitty looking one, but one Peter was sure he could never afford to live in, even with the alarming amount of pizza deliveries he had to make nearly every night of the week. What was it with New York and pizza? It was almost one in the morning and Peter could feel his phone vibrating in successions in his jeans pocket from the texts his boss kept sending him about his next runs.

There was a strong smell of weed lingering in the lobby as Peter went to the elevator, but it wasn't much better inside of it. He had to squeeze between a woman and her boyfriend fighting over money, which the 18 years old assumed after the two painfully long minutes where he had to try his best to avoid the woman's accusing finger attached to her dangerously animated arm. It had been difficult since the elevator was so small Peter doubted it had been made in mind for three people and two extra-large boxes of pizza. His right side hurt a little from it being so tightly pressed against the dirty elevator's tapestry while he made everything in his power, not to as much as brushed against the heated woman. Peter didn't want to add "pineapple and olive pizza on her feet", which was already a monstrosity in itself, in her list of problems. Peter's day had not been much better. Harry had been so withdrawn lately, what with his father illness, that he didn't need a reason anymore to snap at his best friend. Peter didn't want to blame him, but he had to admit it was getting on his nerves, it wasn't like it was his fault Harry's dad was dying. And Peter already had to deal with Flash, who had given him a painful welcome that morning that had left his jaw still sore.

Peter would have much preferred being in his bed right about now, instead of delivering food in sketchy apartment buildings, but ever since his uncle had been fired, money had been really tight for them. Peter was tempted to take on another job to help out, but his uncle Ben had been very adamant about him not to by saying that he wanted his nephew to concentrate on his last year or high school and that he didn't have to worry. But that worry was helping Peter to resist the incredible urge to leave the three warm boxes at 'Jeremy' doorstep and riding to bed immediately. Speaking of which, 'Jeremy at 7348 Red Ledge Drive' seemed more surprised than the average people being delivered a pizza to at 1am when he opened his door to Peter.

"I didn't order pizza," Jeremy simply said, his Star Wars shirt sprinkled with crumbs of chips and smelling of weed ten times stronger than the lobby ever could.

"Well," Peter's brain was screaming at him to just toss the large boxes into the other young man's arms, but instead he searched with one of his hand for the receipt stuck between the two boxes. "Aren't you Jeremy? For 7348 Red Ledge Drive?"

"Yes, but I'm telling you I didn't order anything!"

"But this is 7348 Red Ledge Drive, right?"

"Will it help if I slow down? I didn’t. Order. The pizza."

Okay, now Peter only wanted to punch the guy and eat all of the food himself, pineapple and olive be damned.

"Then who..."

Before Peter could finish his question, both men turned at the sound of a toilet flushing in another room of the apartment.

"I did."

A peculiar looking man was coming out of the bathroom behind Jeremy, who, by the look on his face, didn't know the guy at all. As to Peter, the strangest thing about this bathroom user stranger would have probably been his coat or his Bea Arthur shirt. Maybe that was the reason why Peter just decided to stand there with sweat running from his back and burned hands, but who knows, he certainly didn't. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that happened to him on the job and Peter kind of wanted to see how this would play out. He could only stare alongside Jeremy at the surprisingly handsome man wiping his hand on a towel in the middle of the living room of the young stoner's apartment.

"Pineapple and olive?" the man asked Peter, who could only nod at the boyish man, seeing as not a single sound would come out of his mouth. "Sweet and salty."

"Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Jeremy's voice sounded more like a strangle screech toward the end as he and Peter both saw the strange man in the living room pulling out an impressive looking pistol from his dark red coat and starting nonchalantly pointing it at Jeremy. While Peter could feel his face going as pale as the poor dude struggling to breathe in front of him, he was surprised to find the man still looking fairly friendly to him.

"Burnt crust?" the man asked Peter, who felt his composure slightly failing him.

"Um, I..." Peter opened the upper box and winced. "It's probably still good..."

"Relax, dude, that’s how I like it! Once you go black, you never go back!" the guy answered with a huge grin as he holstered his pistol.

Peter could only watch as the good-looking man took the steps toward him as he pushed aside Jeremy to take a slice out of the box Peter had already opened. Which he proceeded, to Peter's shock, to close with a hunting knife while making uncomfortably long eyes contact with him, revealing the tattoos on his forearms in the process. He was taller than him and Peter could only look up at the guy's hazel eyes as he appeared to be roaming them all over him.

"This is about the hack, right? It wasn't just me, okay!" Peter was almost surprised when he heard Jeremy's voice over the man's muscular shoulder. "I told Chris... Listen, take whatever you want!"

Still looking right at Peter, the armed man simply swallowed his mouthful of cheese and olives, while Jeremy had started to fumble with his wallet to hand him the bills inside. Finally looking away, the man, in one smooth move, took the entire wallet instead, which lead to Peter finally letting out the breath he had been holding for what felt like twenty minutes.

"Thanks!"

"Uh," Peter scrapped his throat as he tried to not feel like shit for asking, "can I have a huge tip?"

"Pay the man!" Wade landed a twenty dollar bills off of Jeremy's wallet into the front pocket of Peter's shirt like someone would do with a stripper's underwear. "Peter, is it?"

Peter's face felt dangerously warm for the two seconds where he didn't remember the cheap tape where his name had been written on his shirt. "Yeah..?"

"Wade Wilson. You got something after this?"

"What?" Peter and Jeremy let out at the same time, both of their voices sounding incredibly high, especially at this hour in the morning.

"Yeah, you're right," Peter wasn't sure if the man, Wade, was talking to him or to himself. "Job comes first!"

Jeremy's eyes widened as Wade pulled him by the back of his dirty shirt. It was also at that moment Peter realized how far away the guy had got from him and the man. And seeing as his cell phone was now laying on the dirty carpet in front of him, it was pretty clear what the dude had been trying to do while Peter was being compromised by the weirdly sexual sight of a man with a knife and a mouth full of olives and cheese. Peter was concerned with himself by the fact that he found 'Wade Wilson' if that was even his real name, a lot more attractive than he initially thought after he had first seen him come out of the bathroom. Which was concerning, since the guy was currently poking 'Jeremy at 7348 Red Ledge Drive' on the forehead with his pistol. Now, Peter was ready to admit this was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him on the job.

"Jeremy Cooper?" the 20 years old sheepishly nodded as Wade took a quick sniff of him. "You need to seriously ease up the weed, dude."

Jeremy only response was a howl that sounded a whole lot more like a chair being dragged across the floor than human. It kind of made Peter want to put the twenty dollar bill he was given on a furniture nearby.

"Oh, and I'm keeping the wallet, by the way. You kind of gave it to me..." Wade said, shrugging in a way that made his gun directed a tiny bit too much toward Peter's general direction if Peter had a say in it.

"Can I at least get my business cards ba..."

Jeremy was shut up by Wade pointing his gun at him again, sending him almost falling over the smelly sofa behind him.

"I will shoot your fucking cat!"

"NO!"

"Whoa, dude, calm down, I'm not gonna touch your cat. How messed up do you think I am?"

The expression on Jeremy's face could have almost made Peter laugh if he was not about to watch the guy's face being blown off. And possibly his own as well, considering how much of that Wade Wilson's unpredictable tendencies Peter had been able to witness in the short amount of time since the man had made his grand entrance in Jeremy's living room. The pause screen of some video games, that Jeremy had most likely been playing before Peter had apparently and unknowingly ruined his life by showing up to his door, was making the most annoying joyful sound in the background.

"Now, you by chance know a Meghan Orlovsky? Getting that right? Orlovsky? Orloskvy?  Do you?" Peter could barely see Jeremy's small little nod from behind the broad shoulders of the armed man. "Good. ‘Cause she knows you."

Peter noticed the manifest change in the man's tone, but it quickly changed when he turned his head toward him to say, "and what situation isn’t improved by pizza, eh?"

It took Peter ten full seconds before he realized what Wade's weird hand gesture toward him meant, and ultimately slapped a slice of pizza that, knowing his chance, was the flabbiest of the bunch, on the guy's manly hand.

"Juicy."

"If I'm magically not getting fired after this, I'm quitting," was the only thing Peter could think as he felt the buzz of his phone against his tight and as he watched a mercenary licking pizza off his hand while trying to threaten someone with a gun.

"Jeremy, I belong to a group of guys who take a dime to beat a fella down." Peter could hear Wade's loud munches from where he was trying to silently put down the pizza boxes on the dirty carpet. "Little Meghan’s not made of money, but lucky her, I’ve got a soft spot."

When Wade opened and closed his hand again in a "gimme" gesture toward Peter, the latter didn't waste a second before slapping another slice into the man's stretched hand. He had made sure it was not as soggy as the first one, but it didn't matter since it ended up on the floor at Jeremy's feet, anyway, after it being nearly handed to him before being let go too soon.

Will I be considered an accomplice, now?

"B-but I'm..." muttered Jeremy.

Okay, I don't care how this turn out I'm getting out of here.

"A stalker. Threats hurt, Jer. Though not nearly as bad as serrated steel. You know that's not the way to go"

Wade's head turned slightly around to give Peter a quick wink, which got ultimately stuck at the closing part of the process when he saw that Peter had successfully reached the door handle with his right hand and gently started turning it.

"Wait! Don't you see I'm trying to impress, right now?" Peter saw the annoyingly handsome mercenary letting an overly dramatic sigh, before wiping his cheesy hand on the front of Jeremy's shirt. "I will make this quick, then."

Before Peter could register what the mercenary had just said, Jeremy was being pinned against the wall with a knife against his throat.

"So keep away from Meghan. We cool?"

"Y-yeah."

At this point, the twenty or so years old was shaking so much in his socks that the only thing keeping him up was Wade's force on him. There was a legitimate second where Peter thought he was about to witness a man getting his throat cut open when he saw the tiniest bit of movement from Wade's armed hand. Instead, he saw him skilfully twirling his knife away from the young guy's throat, snipping it on his finger and jamming it back into in its place inside of his red coat. All the while Jeremy was left on his ass, his back against the white wall.

"Then we're done."

"W-we are?" Jeremy asked the mercenary from his not so graceful place on the floor, that, according to Peter, he wasn't ready to leave anytime soon.

"Soft spot, remember? But even look in her general direction again? You’ll learn in the worst of ways," Wade nonchalantly said, turning away from the pathetic man on the ground.

Peter only just realized he was still in the same position at the front door of the apartment when he had tried to run off. He was glad there had been no murder, but he wasn't so sure about himself when he would get back to the pizza shop. He wouldn't be surprised if his boss had already written him off. The whole ordeal had lasted for a little more than half an hour, given the Homer Simpson clock on the stoner's wall.

"I've got some hard spots too," Wade paused to take the pizza boxes into his arms. "That came out wrong. Or did it?"

He was winking at Peter again, this time without interruption, and pushed one of the two boxes to the younger man as he took a piece out of his still in his arms. Peter couldn't say if it looked more odd than attractive to him, which the last one appeared to be the goal. It was almost frightening to Peter how much duality was present into that man. One second Peter could be jumping out of his feet at his actions, and the next, bewildered by his childish, and almost endearing, behaviour. He looked young and joyful, but there was just enough of an edge to it that made Peter want to swoon like some kind of twelve years old. Which Peter was more than determined to not let that happen.

As it seemed the man was about to go off, Peter didn't really know what to do with himself. Was he supposed to wait for the mercenary to be gone to, himself, finally leave that god-awful apartment? He knew he should have gone a long time ago, probably when the man had first made the presence of his gun known, or even when he first saw Jeremy's deeply confused face at the sight of him, but he didn't, in fear of being shot in the back. Wasn't he a witness? Why had the guy wanted to keep him inside? If he had in fact witnessed 'Jeremy at 7348 Red Ledge Drive' being killed, Peter would have been certain the man had simply been planning to kill him, as well. While he did look and sounded quite pleasant, Peter wouldn't doubt the fact that he could kill a man if he wanted to. But what the mercenary said to him next should have surprised Peter way less than it did.

"So, did you have anything planned after this?"